3.22.2010

El político / José Antonio Ramos Sucre

The Politician

The carriage of the bloodthirsty caudillo stirs up the dust of the fire’s route. His guards have gathered the tents on the backs of some nefarious dogs. The soot from the fire embosses the greasy complexion and the limp hair of the lean, Ephialtean, monstrous warriors, delirium of a bonze. The mandarin, astute and lazy, sybarite cat, undermines the rise of the wild horde. His indirect discourse, uttered in a low voice during an interview with the invaders, entertains the ravages of a chimerical backdrop. His frivolous chisel refines the ivory corolla of a mechanical flower. The mob of Sagittarians, a frenetic menace, engulfs itself in the wilds, confronts the resplendent sky, of violaceous edges. A treacherous numen looses the four-horse carriage of the whirlwinds and buries the racket of the riders under a monotonous tapestry. The mandarin, childhood fate, received from his teacher, a wandering scoundrel, the apologist of the nihilist skeleton, at the site of the gale. On that day an astrologer pointed to the equilibrium of the elements.